


brand new day, brave new world

by rhysgore



Category: BioShock
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bad Ending, Bloodplay, Canon-Typical Drug Use, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-04
Updated: 2015-11-04
Packaged: 2018-04-29 21:03:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5142362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhysgore/pseuds/rhysgore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack shows mercy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	brand new day, brave new world

**Author's Note:**

> ok i'd like to start out by saying that this was originally only intended to be the sexy bits. and then it got away from me and swelled to 5k words. whoops.
> 
> i'd like to thank everyone who's ever commented on/liked one of my works for encouraging me (read: stroking my ego), 8tracks for essentially fueling me while i wrote this, and my dad for letting me watch him play this game when i was 10, unaware that 8 years later i would come back, play it myself, and then write erotic fanfiction about it. i'm sure i've made him very proud here.

Fontaine collapsed to the ground, cursing loudly as Jack drained the last of his ADAM. He was bleeding, beaten, and yet there was still danger in him, Jack knew.

“This ain’t over,” he hissed, struggling to his feet. “Not yet, kid. I can still-” he was cut off abruptly by the Sisters. They crawled out of the walls en masse, giant needles in hand, ready to stab, to stick, to drain, to kill, to get their revenge.

Jack watched with fascination as they swarmed upon Fontaine. Even without the ADAM he was a strong man, but he couldn’t hold them all back. They forced him down, held up the needles, sharp points gleaming in the cold blue light, and-

“Wait!”

Obediently, the Sisters stayed their hands, looking up with wide, curious eyes at Jack. Jack surveyed them all with mild disgust, and gestured for them to stand back. His loafers padded softly against the floor as he walked over to where Fontaine was lying, and unceremoniously stepped on his chest. Fontaine grimaced, and said nothing until, with a small quirk of a triumphant grin, Jack shifted his entire body weight onto the foot holding Fontaine down.

“Is this how it’s gonna be, kid? You ain’t gonna end it? What, are you gonna torture me until you feel better about what I did to your sorry ass?” A sneer was equally evident on the man’s face and in his voice.

Jack considered it for a moment, weighing his options.

“There are still things I want from you,” he finally said.

***

Fate was a funny thing. Mercy was, too. The boy had shown more of it towards a man who’d done him nothing but wrong his entire life than towards any of the innocent girls he’d come across in Rapture.

The city seeped into him, soaking through his clothes, his skin, into his blood, penetrating bone deep. The hedonism, the cruelty, the corruption, built on the back of what could have been humanity’s shining jewel. Jack and Rapture. Rapture and Jack. On some level, they ceased to be different entities, wound together so tightly that neither would ever relinquish its grasp on the other.

Fontaine would later reflect that Jack turned out more like him than like his father- the only mercy he knew wasn’t _true_ mercy, was cruel and selfish, and the only compassion he knew was for those who could yet prove useful. Jack would raise an eyebrow and say that he was better than either of them. Ryan was an architect, after all. Fontaine was a wrecking ball.

Jack was both.

***

The former businessman fumed, feeling rage and humiliation in equal amounts. He angrily tugged at the collar around his neck, trying to relieve the dull pains from the metal studs on the inside of it, but only succeeding in digging the metal on the opposite side deeper into his skin.

Jack watched him with amusement. Electricity flickered over his fingers, a reminder to Fontaine of the promised retribution for any “misbehavior”.

The situation was entirely wrong. He was meant to be the _puppetmaster_ , goddamnit, not the puppet. Not Jack’s… _pet_ , or whatever the fuck he was now. Constrained by a collar, led around on a short leash (not literally, though, thank _god_ ). Almost like an attack dog, but one without teeth or claws. It was pathetic. Fontaine despised it. Despised Jack for making him suffer these indignities and looking so _damn smug_ about it.

The humiliation was part of the boy’s revenge, no doubt. It was petty, but it was working. And there was the constant threat that Jack would fry his neck looming over his head as well.

“Kid, is this really necessary?” God, how he hated asking that. He despised begging of any type. and despised having to do it himself even more. It made him feel weak, and the last thing he needed right now was to lose any more power to the smarmy upstart in front of him.

“Mmm, yes. I think it is,” Jack responded cooly. He dragged his eyes up and down Fontaine’s body (Jack had let him keep wearing suits. He was afforded that dignity, at least). “Seeing as you tried to kill me the last time you were free, this is definitely necessary.”

Fontaine made a noise of frustration halfway between breathing out his nose and cursing at Jack.

“Besides,” Jack continued, stepping closer to take the collar between his thumb and forefinger, examining it more closely. He let loose a tiny spark into the metal, and smirked when it made Fontaine twitch. “You look good in it.”

His tone was neutral, but Fontaine noted Jack’s prolonged gaze, the way his pupils dilated just slightly, how the tip of his tongue reached out almost imperceptibly to brush his upper lip.

Jack might have been powerful beyond belief, but at his core he was still deeply and inescapably human. And no matter how hard they tried to get rid of them, humans always had weaknesses. Exploitable points that Fontaine had always been a master of grabbing onto and twisting until he got results. Jack had just shown him a weakness, and Fontaine felt the beginnings of a plan forming.

“If you say so, kid.”

***

His eyes glowed now, Fontaine also noted. Not constantly, like the Sisters’ did, and not as bright either. But whenever Jack was angry, or excited, or just feeling particularly violent, his eyes would flash with terrible yellow light. He was too young, and had modified his body with too much ADAM too fast. He didn’t know how to control it, or even mask it.

In the Splicers’ eyes, the glow was an expression of base instinct rising to the top- the desire for ADAM, and the willingness to maim, kill, and die for it. In the Sisters, the glow was inhuman- an indicator of their otherworldliness, the slugs they carried inside themselves. In Jack’s eyes, the glow was something else. It was a cruel, predatory bloodlust, a thirst for power, a hunger for violence and for control. Expressions of desires that had been building since Jack split open his first skull in Rapture, desires which swirled and stirred within him, blurring the lines between who he was and who he was becoming.

He was a weapon, afterall. A nice little gun, slight and fragile seeming, but deadly beyond belief, with a beautiful shell disguising the danger underneath.

Fontaine just needed to relearn how to wield him.

***

“I want you by my side,” Jack said, one day, out of the blue. They were standing by one of the large glass windows that looked out over a sweeping expanse of beautiful city. A moment of quiet.

“Is that so?” Fontaine drawled, taking a long drag from his cigarette. Jack gave him a box every once in awhile, a reward for “good behavior”, the boy said. It was one of the few, but slowly increasing luxuries he was afforded. His clothes were another, his life the first and foremost. “Now, what could you possibly mean by that?”

Jack’s eyes flickered as he spoke. “This city isn’t enough. One damn city, slowly filling with water at the bottom of the ocean, full of mutilated _idiots_ who hang on my every order because I pump their lungs full of pheromones and their minds full of bullshit?” He laughed, short and full of irony. Electricity ran down his hands, making his shoulders shake.

“This place isn’t going to hold me back, and it’s not gonna hold me down. I’m going to the surface, and I’m going to make it mine.”

Fontaine couldn’t help but feel a twinge of what might be either admiration or pride. Admiration, because in a few months, the kid already had more ambition, more power, and more drive than Ryan had in his entire miserable fucking life. Pride, because well, it certainly wasn’t Ryan who had made him this way.

“So what d’you want me for then, kid?” He exhaled, and let a haze of smoke cover his face. Jack wouldn’t be able to see anything of his expression, besides whatever the glowing butt of the cigarette told him.

“The people down here are insane, and the people on the surface are meant for subjugation. You’re the only one…”Jack trailed off, seeming to struggle with an ending for his sentence. Fontaine narrowed his eyes.

He sensed a breaking point, a chance to gain leverage in this strange symbiotic relationship that they were teetering around. He found a chink in Jack’s mind, pressed his fingers into it, pulled and prodded at it.

“I’m the only one, _what,_ kid?”

Jack looked away, as if he was embarrassed. “... I want you to see it,” he muttered, avoiding the question.

Bingo. There was something. An imbalance, an exploitable point.

Fontaine smiled, wolfish and cruel. “I’ll be there.”

***

The first visit to the surface was only Jack and him. Jack hadn’t told him where they were going, why they were going, only that it was “personal business”.

“Want you to see it,” was all he had said when Fontaine pressed him for details, eyes pulsating feverishly from brown to bright yellow, excited and nervous with a quiet fury building underneath. “Want you to see it. Want you to see it see it seeitseeit…”

Neither of them said anything for most of the trip, save for Fontaine mentioning that this was his first visit to the surface in years. Jack didn’t respond, except to clench his hands together tighter in his lap, rictus stare focused on the seat in front of him.

Fontaine tugged irritatedly on his collar, adjusting it so the studs were digging into different spots. He hadn’t been allowed to take it off since Jack had put it on, two months ago. It wasn’t obtrusive anymore, but it was still… noticeable. Like a scab that wouldn’t heal, that he just kept picking at until it bled.

Jack was armed. A pistol, hidden underneath his shirt and sweater, tucked into his belt in the back. He had insisted on keeping that filthy beige sweater, instead of dressing in a suit or any of the other fine clothing made in Rapture by the world’s most talented fingers. He said it was important for whatever errand they were on. At least he had cleaned it.

They reached the surface near to the shore. Fontaine wasn’t certain of the specifics behind Bathysphere technology- it had never been his area of business- but they functioned as a taxi service for the more common crowd, ferrying them between a series of set destinations. For those who were more intimately familiar with the designs or commands, or were like Jack and had the spheres keyed to their genetic code, they were more like miniature submarines.

From where the sphere had landed, Jack said it was only a few miles inland to their destination. He was familiar with the location, and as they walked, Fontaine started to develop an idea as to where exactly it was they were going.

When they arrived, his suspicions were confirmed. It was a quaint little house in a small, coastal town, all wood fence and white porch, the perfect picture of a quiet, rural lifestyle. Nothing stood out about it. It was almost unsettlingly average, Fontaine thought. Perfect for its purpose.

“Stay out here for now. Don’t let them see you. Keep your radio on,” Jack told him, before briskly climbing the porch steps and knocking on the door. Fontaine ducked out of sight, leaning against the side of the house, listening to the door creak open on spring hinges.

“Jack!” came a woman’s cry. Surprise, and relief laid on too thickly to mask the fear underneath. “You’re- oh my god! Harold! He’s back! Jack’s here, he’s- he’s alive!”

Hurried footsteps, and then a man’s voice joined the woman’s. He was better at hiding his fear, but Fontaine had intimidated enough people in his lifetime to know with fair certainty when someone was simply a very good bluffer.

“Hey, mom. Hey, dad,” Jack said. “It’s nice to see you two again. Can I come in?”

“Of course, son,” the man said, a little too enthusiastically. “I’ll put on some coffee, and you can tell us where on God’s green earth you’ve _been_ the past 5 months.” The front door closed, but Fontaine could still hear what was being said through his radio. “I mean, for goodness’ sake, boy, we thought you were _dead!_ ”

“We heard your plane went down, and we assumed the worst,” Jack’s “mom” said, voice catching. “However did you manage to survive that?”

“Well, it’s… a funny story.” There was a noise that sounded like someone sitting down on a couch, the creak of springs and rustle of fabrics. “And one that would take a very long time to tell. Which is why I’m going to have to ask you to cut the bullshit, _now_.”

Fontaine allowed himself a wry grin. Inside his breast pocket there was a pack of cigarettes, and his fingers were twitching with the effort of not smoking one.

“Excuse me?”

“Jack, are you okay?” Jack’s “parents” were slipping.

“You don’t have to ask me what happened. You _know_ what happened, don’t you. You know all about it, don’t you? You miserable pair of goddamn _liars_.” Jack’s voice was growing harsher, the anger in it barely contained.

“Jack, what’s happening to your eyes-”

“You knew what was going to happen when I got in that plane. You knew where it was going. Where _I_ was going.”

“Jack, calm down!”

“Would you kindly sit-” The sharp noise of some sort of impact, a howl of pain from Jack’s “dad”, a wail of fear from his “mom”.

“Shut the _fuck_ up!” Jack’s breath came ragged over the line, mingled with the sound of his “mother” crying, his “father” groaning in pain from whatever Jack had done to him. “I know all about it. I was never a _child_. I was never a _human_. And you were _never_ my parents.” Fontaine heard the click of Jack’s pistol, heard another hysterical sob from the woman.

“I don’t know what happened to you, Jack, but you’re wrong. We’re your parents, remember? Your mother gave birth to you. We took care of you. Don’t you remember me teaching you how to ride that little red bike of yours? Please, son, for the love of god, would you kindly _put the gun down?_ ”

“Funny you should say that, because I brought someone along with me. Met him while I was trapped in the middle of the ocean. I think you might know each other, actually,” Jack said, low and terrifying. “Get in here. Need you.”

Fontaine sighed, walking up the stairs and pulling open the unlocked front door. He took a moment to observe the tableau before him. Jack standing on one end of the room, pistol held in a shaking hand, his eyes glowing yellow with manic energy. His “parents” on the other end of the room, looking between him and Jack with absolute terror. Jack’s “father”, splayed out on the floor, blood dripping from what looked like a broken nose. His “mother”, kneeling next to him, crying.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he said, grinning, unable to resist the obvious joke, “but don’t worry. I’m a perfectly respectable man. I’ll have Jackie here home before 11, no mischief or funny business. His virginal purity will remain untouched, you have my word.” He put a hand on his breast, over his heart in a mockery of a swear.

Jack glanced at him, giving him a look that clearly said “shut the hell up before I shoot your balls off, asshole” before turning back. His intuition was right on the money, however. He and Jack’s “parents” had had an arrangement\\. Put simply, he’d paid them to raise the boy, to make sure he kept his head down and out of trouble until it was time for him to go to work in Rapture.

“You can give it up, ya know,” he said. “He knows everything. And those magic words ain't working on him anymore, either.” He turned to Jack. “So, are you gonna do it?”

“Jack, honey, don't. Don't, oh my god, don't, we’re sorry, we’re so sorry, we didn't want to hurt you, don’t blame us, not us, not-”

In one fluid motion, Jack took aim, and fired two shots. His “mother” slumped over her husband’s chest, twin holes in her temple and forehead spurting blood. His “father” gasped beneath the added weight, his body starting to shake with sobs of fear. Jack, face flecked with blood, turned to Fontaine. His eyes glowed brighter than ever before, and his grin was wide and feral. Without looking away, he squeezed two more shots off, hitting the man once in the center of his forehead, once right between the eyes.

“Pathetic,” he spat. Smoke crept from his pistol and blood dripped down his face, soaking into his hair and sweater, seeping into his smile. The only sound was a slight gurgle from the two corpses on the floor, of fluid leaving their bodies.

The kid was a work of art.

Almost without realizing it, Fontaine reached forwards and brushed his thumb over Jack’s red-stained jaw, smearing the blood over his chin, his cheekbone, and then over his lips. The boy’s breathing was heavy, and his eyes throbbed steadily.

“It feels different, doesn’t it?” Fontaine muttered, thumb still exploring the pretty, pert shape of Jack’s mouth. “Different killing someone who actually mattered.” Jack’s previous murder record had consisted of Splicers, post-human freaks in diving suits, and Andrew Ryan. Not a particularly impressive history. But now...

“It felt...” Jack’s voice was low and throaty, oddly intense. The moment was charged, literally as well as figuratively- there was a thrum of electricity crackling on Jack wherever Fontaine put his fingers. Another tipping point.

“You feel better now, kid?” The scales were teetering, almost there. “Feel _satisfied?_ Was it good for you, killing them?” Jack inhaled sharply, and leaned slightly into his touch.

“Feels _amazing_ ,” he breathed, almost too quietly to be heard. He practically nuzzled against Fontaine’s hand, urging him to keep stroking, keep touching. “I.. I want more. Want to keep feeling like this.” He paused for a moment, and his glowing gaze flickered from Fontaine’s hand, to his eyes, to his mouth. “Will you kiss me, please?”

Bingo.

Fontaine stepped forward, palm still on Jack’s cheek, and claimed that pretty little mouth for him own.

***

He wondered what Ryan would say if he could see them now. His son and his greatest enemy ( _well,_ Fontaine thought, _besides all those surface leeches he kept going on about_ ), shacked up together.

It was the closest thing he’d get to dancing on the man’s grave.

Jack was sitting on his lap, soaked in blood and viscera. His arms were wrapped around Fontaine’s neck, head buried in his chest, breathing him in. Fontaine gripped Jack’s back with one hand, holding him upright. The other hand held a lit cigarette. He had the sudden urge to ask Jack if it had been good for him too, but didn’t want to lose the feeling of the manic energy in the boy’s body, the power that made his thin frame tremble in Fontaine’s arms.

He’d killed these ones with his bare hands, ripping through their flesh and muscle like it was nothing, snapping bones like twigs under his feet, tearing through sinew and cartilage, reaching in deep, deep, deep to pull out steaming handfuls of intestines. Insatiable, animal strength and bloodlust, with a fully human desire to completely _destroy_ underneath.

Fontaine took another drag of his cigarette and suppressed a laugh.

***

Bit by bit, he got his freedoms back. Jack let him have more cigarettes, let him drink, let him carry a gun. It was agonizingly slow, but Fontaine was nothing if not patient. He’d waited over a decade and a half for Jack the first time around, he could wait a few months for him now.

It was strange and fascinating to see how Jack changed. The ADAM changed him, sure, but where some people were completely altered by it, he was only affected on the surface. His eyes would yellow and his hands would crackle with heat, frost over, hum with electricity, yes, but underneath, he was still Jack. He wasn’t addicted to ADAM half as much as he was addicted the feeling of crushing people beneath his feet.

The more brutal Jack became, however, the more he craved intimacy. At the end of every day, he crawled into Fontaine’s lap, either to rest his head on the man’s shoulder, or to kiss him, again and again. It was endearing, the way the kid always asked for permission. Always gave a muttered “please, kiss me”, let Fontaine do the taking.

And for his part, Fontaine took and took and took. He took everything Jack offered him, and hungered for more.

The collar around his neck, heavy and ever-present, was gone one day when Fontaine woke up. In its place was Jack, curled up next to him like he was trying to slip into the other man’s bones while he slept.

***

“Damn, kid. You made one helluva mess.” The observation was accompanied by a low whistle, directed at the literal mound of bodies that no longer resembled anything close to bodies. Blood drips and trickles quietly through dismembered limbs and spilled guts, pooling around Jack’s already red-soaked shoes.

Really, Jack could subjugate the surface any day he wanted to. He was dragging it out, for personal enjoyment more than anything. A living weapon, itching to be let loose on a world that needed cleansing. Fontaine certainly had no cause to complain about the thrill he got every time he watched Jack go to work.

Abruptly, the boy turned towards him. His eyes were wild, pulsating, his entire form shaking.

“Fuck me,” he said.

Ash dropped from the end of Fontaine’s cigarette, mingling with blood.

“Pardon?”

Jack drew a shaky breath. “Will you fuck me, please?” He asked, swallowing visibly. “Want- want you inside of me. Want you to be rough with me. Want you to _break_ me. Just please- please do it.”

“Well,” Fontaine said, smoothing over his excitement and burning arousal with a thick drawl. “You did ask nicely. And I can’t say no to a pretty face like yours.”

If he had to be honest, Jack was an objectively good looking kid even before ADAM and Rapture had done their bit with him. He was wide-eyed and firm jawed, with well-shaped lips and skinny legs that Fontaine had been chomping at the bit to get between. Dark hair flopped over his face more often than not, as he had infrequent haircuts, but it was almost _cute_.

He put out his cigarette, pulled off his suit jacket, and dropped it straight into the puddle on the floor. A vest, suspenders, and button-up shirt followed shortly afterwards, as did shoes and socks. Jack was also stripping down, out of that awful sweater he still insisted on wearing, the undershirt beneath it, bloodstained boots, worn out pants, socks, and underwear. Completely naked, he stepped over to Fontaine to help undo the man’s final few layers.

It was hurried, desperate, but soon enough they were both naked. Jack laid on the ground, and it was like a scene from one of Fontaine’s most prominent fantasies- a pretty young thing splayed out, covered in the blood of other people, waiting for him to ruin them. His dick was hard, flushed an appealing shade of pink, leaking insistently where it laid across Jack’s stomach.

There was something oddly innocent about the picture, despite Jack’s naked arousal and the fact that they were about to fuck next to a pile of corpses. Fontaine felt himself growing harder and harder with each passing moment, and knelt down between Jack’s legs, claiming that cute mouth with his own, kissing the boy roughly as he stroked languidly down his side. He dug his fingers into Jack’s hip, hard enough to bruise that fair skin, smooth and deathly pale from being in Rapture for so long, away from the sun.

Jack gasped against his mouth, wrapped his arms around Fontaine to pull him closer, running blunt nails down his shoulderblades.

“C’mon,” he hissed when Fontaine relinquished his mouth to bite his jaw and down his neck, bucking his hips up. “Need it. Need you- _aah!”_ He made a noise of surprise when his arms were pulled away and he was flipped onto his stomach, face down in the puddle of blood beneath him.

“You’re too damn impatient, kid,” Fontaine growled. There was a smirk on his face, smug and self-satisfied, invisible to Jack. He pressed closer to the boy, rubbing his fully hardened cock against the cleft of that pert little ass and relishing in the noises this elicited.

A rough hand grasped Jack’s face, and two fingers pushed at the opening of his lips. The boy got the message almost immediately, taking them into his mouth and beginning to suck

“Yeah, get ‘em nice and wet, that’s right. Just like that, that’s good.” Jack seemed to be quite receptive to encouragement, judging by the way he lathed at the fingers with his tongue with increasing enthusiasm, and bucked his hips back. “ _Fuck_ , kid.” Fontaine, with some effort, pulled his hand out of Jack’s mouth. He reached back, moving his hips aside and rubbing his now slick digits against Jack’s hole. Fontaine wanted to tease the kid, to drag it out until he was whimpering and begging, but his restraint was fast disappearing. The tight, eager little body half-lying half-kneeling beneath him was seeing to that.

He pushed two fingers in at once, and Jack let out a noise that could have been shock or pain, or both.

“Relax, kid. Jesus, you’re tight. You haven’t done anything like this, have you?” Fontaine twisted his fingers around inside the boy, stretching and scissoring and listening to the series of soft, breathy moans that his ministrations elicited. “Hey, I asked you a question.”

“N-no,” Jack panted.

“You’ve never been fucked before?”

“No, n-never.” His face was completely red with blood, shoulders pressed against the floor, back muscles twitching. Gorgeous and strung out already.

“Have you ever fingered yourself?”

There was a hitch in Jack’s breath, but besides that no answer. Fontaine leaned in closer, until his lips were inches away from Jack’s ears, and whispered,

“C’mon, it’s a simple question. Have you fingered yourself before?” The tips of Jack’s ears were pink with embarrassment. A nerve had been struck, and Fontaine pulled at it, playing it like a violin. “Did you ever touch yourself and imagine it was me? Did you cum imagining me fucking you stupid?” At each question, Jack gave a quiet whimper and gyrated his hips on the fingers inside of him. He was loosening up a little now, enough for Fontaine to slide in a third. “Jack…”

“ _Yes_ ,” Jack finally said, and it burst forth from him like a sob. “Oh _god_ , I-I wanted you so badly. Want you. Still want, wantwantwant…”

“You’re gonna get it, kid,” Fontaine growled, deep and throaty, utterly pleased with himself. He pulled his fingers out of Jack, lined up their hips, and thrust into him, sinking deep into that proffered ass. Both of them let out a shuddering sigh of pleasure at the same moment, savoring the brief moment before Fontaine started moving, pistoning his hips into Jack almost violently.

This was the kid’s first time, but he hadn't asked for _gentle_. Jack didn't want to be made love to, or any of that bullshit. He wanted to be taken, like a conquest, like a walled city that had shown a gap in its defenses. He wanted it rough, he wanted to be _ruined_ , and Fontaine was happy to oblige.

He gripped Jack’s hip with one hand, and used the other to press between his shoulder blades, pushing Jack’s chest and head onto the floor, straight into the blood pool there. This wasn’t clean. It wasn’t pretty. It was hedonistic and sinful, and Fontaine didn’t want it any other way. And judging by the moans Jack was making and the way he rolled his hips back to take Fontaine deeper, he didn’t either.

“So fuckin’ good,” Fontaine said, his voice a feral grunt, growing rougher as he lost more and more control. “Such a good little slut for me, aren’t you?” He punctuated his question with a hard slam of his hips that drew a cry from the boy beneath him. He scratched up Jack’s side and back, thrusting into him with the force and intent to break him in half. Jack was resilient though, arching his back, taking dick like a champion.

“Y-yeah,” Jack panted. “I’m g-good. I’m a good- _aah!_ \- I’m a _good slut_.” He was halfway gone, overstimulated, on the edge of climax, but managed to get words out still.

_He deserves a reward for that, at least,_ Fontaine thought as he moved his hand from its iron grip on Jack’s hip down to his leaking, neglected cock. He pumped it roughly, squeezing in time with his thrusts. _You’re lucky, kid. I’m not usually this generous._

It only took a few strokes to get Jack to fall apart in his hands, and the boy screamed when he came, a shockwave of electricity pulsing through him. Fontaine felt it all over his body, like little pinpricks, and he pounded into Jack recklessly until with a shout, his orgasm hit him as well.

They both laid there for some time, catching their breath. At some point, Fontaine pulled out of Jack and flipped him over onto his back. The bad thing about the position they’d ended up in was that it had rendered him unable to see Jack’s face while he was being fucked, but the sight of him, covered in blood and sweat, face flushed, come leaking from his softening cock and from between his legs, bruised, scratched, and bitten, was almost enough to make up for it.

A thin line of drool worked its way down Jack’s face. His whole body was trembling. He looked, for lack of a better word, used. Thoroughly debauched. _Well dicked,_ said the cruder part of Fontaine’s mind. Ruined. Corrupted. Wrecked. _Beautiful_.

“Kiss me again?” Jack said, finally.

Bingo.

Fontaine leaned forwards and obliged him.

***

Immortality was actually not a difficult thing to achieve with ADAM. All bodily ailments and natural death were caused by cells being copies of copies of copies, and wearing down steadily as a result of it. Little errors in the genetic code compounded and became big errors, and eventually, they were fatal. ADAM could manipulate code, but could also provide a blueprint for code. A map to keep cells perfect forever. Rapture scientists had essentially perfected the formula, but civil war had broken out, and the city had gone to shit before the product could be mass-marketed. It was probably just as well, although being immune to cancer wouldn’t have prevented a splicer from being felled by a bullet or two to the head.

As the needle entered his vein, Jack sighed, and the whole world shook with fear.

***

There were two kinds of power, in the end.

The first was the kind he had previously possessed in great quantities, that Jack held now. The power to make people quake before you because they _knew_ what you could and would do to you. “Force” was another name for it, and there was something beautiful about a force so great that it could turn stone to dust and crush people beneath its weight alone.

The second kind of power was one he was getting used to. It was far more subtle- it wasn’t wielded in any direct way, but in a way, it was even greater than sheer force. Fontaine wielded _influence_ , now, sharp as a knife, heavy as a club, deadly as any gun. Jack might have been king, but he was the power behind the throne. He was the voice that whispered into the boy’s ear.

“You see now?” Jack murmured one night. He was pressed against Fontaine’s bare chest, having collapsed there after his orgasm had rendered him boneless.

“Hm?”

“You wondered why I didn’t kill you.” It took Fontaine a moment to realize Jack was talking about their fight beneath the surface, in the depths of Rapture. It had been years since that fateful encounter, and he hadn’t thought about it in a long time.

Fontaine chuckled, wrapping his arms around Jack to tug him closer. Jack obligingly let himself be tugged, pressing a buzzing kiss to the man’s jaw as he settled into place.

“I guess I did. Are you going to answer that question now, kid?”

Really, the term “kid” was inaccurate. Jack, despite his ADAM-maintained good looks, was all grown up now. But whenever he was with Fontaine, especially after they fucked, he always seemed… different. More like the Jack that had first come into Rapture all those long years ago.

Jack pushed himself up a little, just enough to look into Fontaine’s eyes, and smiled.

“I knew that one day, I would have this all. This world, these people, everything else. I knew needed someone to share it with,” he whispered, halfway between sweet and conspiratorial. “Someone who would appreciate what I’m capable of without cowering. Someone who I could consider an equal.”

“Oh, kid. That ain’t love speaking, is it?” Fontaine laughed, and carded through Jack’s hair with one hand. The other rested in the small of the boy’s back, rubbing it gently.

Jack didn’t say anything for a moment, thinking. The lull of silence stretched on, but there was no rush. There would never be any rush ever again for either of them. Then,

“Kiss me, please.”

It was almost adorable how he still asked.

Without moving his hands, Fontaine leaned in, and pressed their lips together.

**Author's Note:**

> for more sin, follow me on tumblr @ffontainefuturistics


End file.
